


when it rains

by sonatine



Series: inclement weather [1]
Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: M/M, Modern AU, government bucky, paramedic steve
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-26
Updated: 2016-06-26
Packaged: 2018-07-18 09:09:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7308784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sonatine/pseuds/sonatine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky gets caught in the rain, then drips his way onto a bus and into Steve's life</p>
            </blockquote>





	when it rains

It is a point of pride for Bucky Barnes that he never takes public transport. He used to walk five miles to the nearest grocery store, okay, he can damn well survive a light thirty-minute jaunt to work or a twenty-minute stroll to his favorite bar and coffee shop.

Bucky never thought that the hardest part of reintegrating into city life would be people staring at him in incomprehension while he goes about his daily business in what he feels to be a standard manner—but more the fool him for still falling for assumptions.

And it doesn't take that long to walk across the Williamsburg Bridge, even from Bed-Stuy, if he ever needs to go into the city.

But the rain has other plans for him. He’s thirty minutes away from his destination and already soaked and the bus pulls up just as he steps into a lagoon of a puddle, so he digs into his pocket and pulls out a couple bills.

The driver eyes them longsufferingly, looks to the MetroCard machine that Bucky is supposed to use, and then onto the floor where Bucky is dripping an ocean. She sighs and jerks her head back.

“Thank you,” Bucky says, quietly and fervently, and makes his way toward the only open seat.

He slows halfway there but doesn't stop or turn around, because Bucky has many flaws but cowardice isn't one of them, and sits gingerly down so as to not soak his very attractive seat partner with squashy rainwater fabric.

The built blond paramedic, who is still wearing his ID proclaiming him to be a Steve Rogers, casts him an amused and despairing glance.

Then he pulls an honest-to-god handkerchief out of his uniform pocket and proffers it.

+

“That better not have belonged to someone you worked on today,” Bucky says.

“Nope,” says Steve, popping the _p._ “Belongs to me.”

“Truly,” says Bucky, mopping the worst of the moisture off his face, “I'm not sure which option is worse.”

“Uh, obviously the option where the handkerchief has TB on it or something.”

“Speak for yourself,” Bucky says. He huffs a laugh at the embroidered flowers, while really admiring them, because they're just such a contrast to the bro-image Steve presents. “No, it's beautiful, really, intricate workmanship. You did this?”

Steve’s face shutters as he takes it back. “My mom,” is all he says, and Bucky’s put his foot in it.

“I'm sorry,” he says softly, and Steve shrugs.

“It was a while ago. Before I even entered the force.”

_Before or because?_ Bucky wonders, but it's not his place, not yet, and he just nods.

+

It's the bus’ swaying rhythm that does it; he tries to hold back the yawn but it cracks through anyway.

“Dude,” Steve says, “it's barely six.”

Bucky gives a half-smile. “New job. New city. It's all just—tiring. I'm wiped every night, just from getting used to everything.”

It's tiring in a different way than routine is: if routine is dragging in its sameness, adjusting to a new schedule is exhausting in the constant concentration required when learning.

“Ah, yeah,” Steve says. “I remember that. When I was in training, all I did was eat and sleep in my off-hours. Disappeared off the social grid for months.”

“You do what you can,” Bucky says, because he is better at giving advice than taking it.

“You do,” Steve says firmly; unfooled. Bucky shifts uncomfortably.

They hit a patch of rain so thick that traffic is stalled. The bus is humid and the windows fogged and muggy. The passengers are quiet under the lulling refrain of water on the metal roof.

“So what’s the new job?” Steve says lowly; it feels like they're in a library or other hushed space. “If—you don't mind telling me…”

“No, it's okay,” Bucky says. “It's a desk job. Government thing.”

“Wo-o-ow,” Steve drawls and Bucky flaps a hand.

“Nah, not like that. I was in the Peace Corps for a while—”

“Directly after high school?” Steve says.

“Yeah,” Bucky mutters, looking away from Steve’s intent gaze. “Did the like eight years contract.”

“So you've just returned two years ago?” Steve says incredulously.

“Nah,” Bucky laughs helplessly, “ _two months_ ago, man. Had a desk job overseas too and now they've transferred me here.”

“Shit,” Steve says, “so this is your first time back in the city in a decade?” and now he’s laughing too. “Jesus, no wonder you're tired.”

“To be fair, I'm always tired anyway,” Bucky says, grinning. It feels strange to talk and laugh so easily; on a daily basis he's pretty isolated otherwise. “So this isn't straying too far from the usual.”

“How's the adjustment so far?” Steve asks seriously. His eyes are _so blue._

“It’s weird, man,” says Bucky. “I use the wrong words. I assume the wrong things. I understand zero pop culture references from the last ten years. It's like waking up from a coma.”

“Jesus, I can't imagine,” Steve says. “I’ve never left Brooklyn,” and then they're both snickering and fuck, this is so weird.

The bus is pulling into a stop and Bucky shifts in his seat.

“Wait,” Steve says desperately, “can I—get your number or something?”

“I'm the next stop,” Bucky says.

“All the same,” says Steve, and when Bucky hesitates he says, “Please, Buck.”

“Why’d you just disappear like that?” Bucky blurts and Steve’s face crumples.

“I'd never hooked up with a guy before, and I freaked out,” he says. “We were _eighteen._ I didn't know if I was gay or bi or what and I'm— sorry. Really, I am.”

“You could've talked to me about it,” Bucky says, and it's ridiculous that this still feels like a fresh hurt—but it does. “I wouldn't have—cared if you were figuring it out. We could've worked it out together.”

“Yeah,” Steve says, looking him dead on. “I was an idiot. I fucked up—”

“ _Royally_ fucked up.”

“I _royally_ fucked up. If it means anything: I've felt terrible about it for ten years.”

“Good,” Bucky says, and Steve cracks a wan, sad smile. The bus is pulling up to his stop, and Bucky makes a hasty, throwaway, probably foolish decision.

“Here,” he says, tossing his phone over to Steve. “Put your number in. I'll text you,” and Steve’s face just lights up.

“You're not just saying that to get me off your back, are you?” Steve says, tapping at the screen.

“No, dude, when I say something, I do it. I'm not a jackass like you,” he adds, tampering the sting with a smile, and Steve cracks up.

“ _Too soon_ ,” he says as Bucky tucks his phone back into his pocket and gets up to leave.

“I'll see you around, Steve,” Bucky says.

“Okay,” says Steve, looking both uncertain and hopeful.

Bucky gets soaked all over again in the two blocks from the bus stop to his apartment. He kicks off his sodden clothes and fills up the bath tub with steaming hot water, smiling as his phone lights up with Steve’s replies to the message Bucky just sent.

**Author's Note:**

> [ [tumblr link](http://sonatine.tumblr.com/post/146499584204/it-is-a-point-of-pride-for-bucky-barnes-that-he) ]


End file.
